


someone may open the door (but you enter by yourself)

by strangeparties



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Accidental Sexting, Corporate AU, M/M, Office AU, eliott is a (literal) boss, lucas is his personal assistant, yet another au!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22873594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeparties/pseuds/strangeparties
Summary: Eliott is Lucas's boss. Eliott is also the accidental recipient of a rather raunchy series of sexts from Lucas. One is hellbent on pretending it never even happened, but the other is just as determined not to let it slide.(or: a corporate!au sprinkled with liberal heaps of the 'i accidentally sexted my boss' trope)
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 31
Kudos: 237





	someone may open the door (but you enter by yourself)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [surrealsunday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrealsunday/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> reposted from tumblr with additions! i never thought this one would ever have seen the light of day again tbh because i basically ran out of steam, but i think i may have had some sort of mental epiphany and subsequently managed to flesh this out just a tiny bit more. also, neither pitchfork nor hozier was harmed in the making of this thing.
> 
> for: jaime (@surrealsunday) whose wonderful words and continuous encouragement are few of the reasons i can even stand to look at my own creative writing kjdakjfa (and your tumblr tags when i first posted this draft made me scream). not only do you write beautifully, you’re also such a beautiful person inside out! and dear @MonstrousNightmare, whose hilarious, endlessly entertaining work i’m always excited for, and who left such sweet messages. your kindness overwhelms me. please accept a little token of love and gratitude from me to both of you. bisous, my friends!

Let’s get one thing out of the way: Eliott Demaury was not a businessman.

He’s the son of a businessman. Seven years ago, venture capitalist Evrard Demaury founded Polaris Ads Inc., a privately held advertising company catering to enterprise-level accounts. In PAI’s first-quarter report, Eliott was listed as the second largest shareholder next to his parents. He helped name the company, which was about to begin its rocky, bump-ridden climb from baby early-stage startup to adolescent mid-stage startup.

Though one could consider Eliott’s interests adjacent to the company’s services, insofar as his actual involvement, that was pretty much it.

Eliott considered himself: an artist, a reader, a dubstep music lover (and no, he didn’t give a damn about your music opinions, you Pitchfork-reading, Hozier-listening hipster), and a self-taught connoisseur of culture, romance, and long, idle walks where he’d do nothing but smile at gap-toothed elderly women and coo at squishy-cheeked babies. He was a Fine Arts - Major in Painting graduate from one of the big Parisian universities because, cushioned by family money and reassured by his parents’ lax attitude towards formal education, he was allowed to pursue his passions i.e. become a starving artist without the dying of consumption part. Not a businessman. And he sure as hell isn’t the Chief Executive Officer.

Then Lucas was hired, and that all changed.

Lucas used to be his Dad’s personal assistant. He was only two years younger than Eliott, a fresh graduate of a low-key University just outside of Paris, but Eliott wouldn’t know it based on Lucas’s scary level of competence. He’d submitted his CV (LUCAS LALLEMANT, DOUBLE MAJOR IN MANAGEMENT AND ECONOMICS, it proclaimed in bold, sans serif, size 16 font) at a citywide job fair and had happened to be interviewed at the same time Eliott’s dad was in the booth. He was hired on the spot. When Eliott got a hold of his HR remarks form (out of curiosity and not because he found Lucas scary-hot, nope) HR had scribbled: _strengths: go-getter, eager to learn, ambitious; weaknesses: way of speaking feistier than desired, may have issues with authority; misc. skills: post-it organization??_

Eliott remembered the day he first saw Lucas. At the time, Lucas had been with his Dad for a little over ten months. His dad would sing his praises during dinner - Lucas arranged this for me, Lucas booked the whole itinerary I mentioned in passing without me having to repeat even once, Lucas memorized the entire Board of Directors’ Starbucks orders after a single Board Meeting - and Eliott would roll his eyes. Lucas was apparently the most organized person in the world. Either that or he was OCD-ridden. Who knew. His dad was so easily impressed, anyway, with his wide open gestures, hearty laughter, and the way he’d say I’m so proud of you at 5-year-old Eliott whose artistic capabilities at the time could be summed up as tumor-shaped clouds vaguely resembling people.

He’d come into the office at his dad’s behest, something about reviewing the rebranded design collaterals. He was sitting outside the office, when a short, boyish-looking young man with windswept hair and curious blue eyes was suddenly standing right before him.

Eliott blinked. “Hi?”

“Yes, hello. M. Demaury, I presume?” he asked, curtly. He was in a pale blue dress shirt and charcoal gray slacks. Eliott’s gaze flitted further down to see truly horrible looking Nike sneakers. It was casual Friday.

“Yeah. I’m here to see my Dad?” Eliott looked up at his face where the warm yellow glow of the lights outside the office had settled around him, making long eyelashes draw inky shadows on his lower lids. He had a face that inspired wonder the more you looked. He had sharp yet soft features, and taken altogether, every part of his face was beautiful.

“Yes, I’m to show you inside.”

Eliott cleared his throat. “And you are? I’d like to be able to thank you properly.”

He raised both brows slowly. Quite adorable. “I’m Lucas, your dad’s EA. It’s nice to meet you, M. Demaury. I’m here to assist you any way I can.” He held out his hand.

Eliott took it as he stood, feeling softness and warmth envelop his palm first, then shoot up his arm and encase his entire body. He had a few inches on Lucas, but Lucas stood admirably tall as they shook hands. It’s a nice feeling; all his dad’s subordinates, even the ones his dad’s age, all had an aura of slight fear when he so much as approached. It’s not like he cared much if they spent their office hours playing Mobile Legends or talking to their mistresses, but he knew being the boss’s son came with some assumed tropes - the spoiled nepotism brat, the tattle, the ambitious weasel. But Lucas bucked his expectations, looking at him like… he was there to see his dad.

Suddenly, all his less than complimentary preconceived notions about Lucas went flying out the window.

(Also, his dad never told him Lucas was literally why the word gorgeous was invented.)

“Thank you, Lucas. And please call me Eliott.”

“But—“

“I insist.”

“Hmm. Okay. Eliott.” Lucas scrunched his nose minutely, almost unnoticeably, like he was rolling the word on his tongue, before smiling. Eliott felt a funny tingly feeling shooting up at his spine, lingering at the back of his head. “I’ll show you inside. Your dad’s waiting.”

Two weeks later, Eliott sold one of his paintings, a landscape watercolour of one of his favourite spots in Paris. It’s just a place, but it’s painted like you’re sharing a secret, said the buyer.

I’ve been inspired lately, Eliott had replied, thinking of blue. Nothing but blue.

.

That was three months ago.

Fast forward to Eliott sitting in the office his dad had vacated, drafting an email for Sander, one of his account directors. Barely a year since Lucas first took up the mantle of EA, his dad had thrust the position of Managing Director on Eliott, saying it was ‘about time’ he learned the ropes of the business. Eliott knew he really just wanted to take a break from pushy clients and tour around Indochine with his mother. Nevertheless, Eliott, overflowing with filial love and gratitude, decided it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to learn something something new.

(And it didn’t have anything to do with the 120% chance of seeing dad’s assistant every single day. Nope.)

As for Lucas, he had been transferred to his care in the most literal terms possible.

“Take care of Lucas,” his dad had said mournfully, like he was losing an actual son and not someone who brought him a flat white on the dot every 7:30h. “I expect him to bloom even more under your leadership.” Eliott wanted him to bloom under him in more ways than one, but he wisely held his tongue.

And so there he was, composing the most inoffensive email possible. You see, Eliott — despite looking like someone who just stepped out the pages of the latest Esquire magazine, reaching out to seize every bit of attention — basically had the spine of an invertebrate when it came to little things like, oh, asking accounts why they weren’t reaching quotas or requesting directors to present decks that were days overdue. His best friends Idriss and Sofiane had once said he was too much of a people-pleaser, never wanting to push any buttons. Well, he needed to push some now and there was only one person in the office who would hold his hand through it.

Figuratively, of course. Eliott was still working on the ‘literally’ part.

Lucas was there not only to smile sweetly (or exasperatedly, he could never tell) at Eliott whenever he asked where the staplers were, but also to re-draft his so-called ‘saccharine emails.’

Still, he had to let Lucas know first the gist of what he wanted to say. Maybe something along the lines of:

_Dear Sander,_

_Hope you’re having a pleasant day!_

_I would just like to kindly inquire where the deck for the PEP Cola 360 campaign is? As you may recall, we have discussed the timeline of this account two weeks ago and the corresponding deadline. According to your shared calendar, said deadline should have been two days ago._

Eliott paused. Was that too harsh? But he already added exclamation points to offset the obvious demand. He shrugged at his desk and left that up to Lucas to decide whether to retain or remove.

_I would greatly appreciate if you sent these to me at the soonest possible time. I’m sure they’re already fantastic and should be approved upon my review!_

He re-read it twice. It seemed to read better, as in, he wouldn’t mind receiving an email like this sort of better. Upbeat, encouraging, and with way forward optimism in Sander and his team’s abilities, like he believed in them - and he did, he really did. He should definitely let them know.

_In addition, may I gently you that your team should be coming up with an aggressive promotional tactic for your other major account, NVAE Dermalogica. The Director has been requesting for the OOH proposal for a week now, but I’ve yet to see this in my inbox. Please send these to me as soon as you are able. May I also gently remind you that in case these accounts lodge complaints, this would have a detrimental effect on the department’s overall bonuses for the quarter._

_I look forward to your deck and tactics! Here’s to another successful quarter! :)_

_Sincerely yours,  
Eliott Demaury  
Managing Director and Acting Chief Executive Officer  
Polaris Ads Inc.  
Creating Living Brands for a Global Audience_

When Eliott checked the time, he was pleased to see to he’d only been drafting for around thirty minutes, as opposed to an hour. There was really no problem with what to say, it was just how to say it. This was one of his areas of struggle because corporate politics! Navigating the intricacies of people’s complex emotions! Emails which read like layered cakes, one meaning on top and another below, and another even further! He decided to stop overthinking, quickly backspacing on the emoji and hitting ‘send’ with llallemant@polarisads.com as sole recipient.

He was about to walk out the office for a croissant break when Lucas came knocking twice at his door.

“Eliott, may I come in?” Lucas asked quaintly, though he’d already crossed the room at a relaxed pace and was standing in front of him, with only Eliott’s dad’s old oak desk separating them. He had his laptop in cradled to his chest.

“Hi, Lucas. What can I do for you?” He smiled winsomely, leaning forward and steepling his chin on his upturned palms. “Please, sit down.”

Lucas nodded, and as he sat down he opened his laptop, placing it on Eliott’s desk. He swivelled it around so Eliott could take a look at his screen.

“Ah, the email.” Eliott said with a smile.

Lucas didn’t look impressed. “Why do you have one ‘kindlys, one ‘greatly appreciates,’ and ’two ‘gentle reminders in your email? Not to mention, you even threw in a ’fantastic’ somewhere there.”

“I didn’t want to sound too demanding or authoritative? People respond more to positive reinforcement?” he attempted, hoping he doesn’t sound too sheepish. For some reason, Lucas’s neutral tone compelled his very insides to explain like his dignity depended on it. It was a weird compulsion; Lucas was (mostly) harmless. He even looked the part of the cute ingenue with his wide blue eyes and messy brunette hair, as if he tried to run a brush through it and the brush just gave up halfway.

“Eliott? Are you listening?” Eliott tore his gaze away from Lucas’s hair and towards Lucas’s raised eyebrows. As usual, there was a glimmer of something in Lucas’s stare, as if he couldn’t decide on being amused or endeared and just settled on a combination of both. A small smile was playing on his lips as he said gently, “I said I already took the liberty of rewording for you. You don’t have to actually gently remind anyone when their deadlines are. You’re Director. That’s the whole point of being Director.”

Clearly this was why his dad loved Lucas, and why Eliott found him fascinating: he had the face of a very tiny, very cute animal (hedgehog? Eliott filed that away in his head for later deliberation), but the verbiage of a cobra in the wild. A study in contradictions.

Eliott cleared his throat, gesturing at the laptop screen. “Okay, give it here.”

Lucas zoomed in.

_Sander:_

_Explain to me why the deck for PEP Cola is 2 days late. Should there be no acceptable explanation for the egregious delay, I expect you to send it to me before end of day._

_Also, send me your OOH proposal for NVAE Dermalogica ASAP. If we lose these accounts, the deficit would be worth your promotion. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you what this would do - or not do - for your team’s Q3 bonuses._

_E. Demaury_  
_Managing Director and Acting Chief Executive Officer_  
_Polaris Ads Inc._  
_Creating Living Brands for a Global Audience_

“Uh,” was all the sound that came out Eliott’s mouth. This was exactly the sort of straight-to-the-bloodstream venom he expected Lucas to write. And it’s… sort of hot. “This sounds… corporate.”

“Because we are. We’re a creative agency but accounts are accounts. If we skate on thin ice with Sander’s accounts in particular, the shortfall won’t be pretty,” Lucas explained slowly. Well, he was an Economics graduate. He knew these things better than Eliott did, no arguing with actual business logic there.

Then he did something unexpected — he reached forward and began fixing Eliott’s lopsided tie. The close proximity almost gave Eliott a minor heart attack. Lucas’s fingers were warm when it brushed against the skin of his collarbone.

Lucas sounded almost fond. “Honestly, Eliott. If you’re having trouble with your ties, you could always ask me to come in. I don’t mind.”

“Ah, you know I wouldn’t want to bother you from, um, your spreadsheets. And things like that,” Eliott said lamely. Wow, what were words?

Lucas sighed, put-upon. He looked Eliott straight in the eye and Eliott could swear his face suddenly felt like it was absorbing heat like a fucking endothermic reaction. Maybe Eliott’s actually hallucinating but it feels like Lucas is actually flirting with him. “I’m here to assist you. In any way.”

And this was the beginning of two things:

First: how Eliott came to be feared in PAI despite literally having a heart softer than cheesecake.

Second: how he fell deeply and irrevocably for Lucas.

.

> **MME. ZIVA BONHEUR PREDICTIONS (Cancer: June 21-July 22).** This month is a significant one for you, Cancer, an important station along the way to your next destination. Not only will you experience significant career growth but also luckiness in love! Your soulmate will often be a Taurus or even someone from your own sign. There will be a touch of fun and lightness that has not been there in recent years. But be cautious! Potential mates may be drawn to your romantic sensibilities, but you can be quite territorial and clingy. Rein in the urge to chain yourself to a newfound lover, tiger! _Motto of the month: “Someone may open the door, but you enter by yourself.”_

The notification came in just as Eliott was about to ascend the stairs to the fifth floor. He could take the elevator, but he skipped his fair bit of leg days recently in an effort to play catch up with all the bid proposals, letters swimming across the pages in undulating lines. Yesterday, he kept reading “decks” as “dicks” and “fallacious” as “fellatio” and that’s when he knew he needed some sort of a break.

Balancing his mildly scalding coffee on his other hand, he tucked his entirely too adult-looking file case under his armpit and swiped over the screen. Then groaned, because why can't Idriss just set his stupid face as Eliott's phone wallpaper or something instead of _this_? 

“Damn it, Idriss…” he grumbled, recalling his best friend downloading the dumb horoscope app on his phone, the aftermath of one keg stand, two car bombs, and three tequila shots one Friday night after work. Eliott wasn't one to pass his drinking limits, mind you. Ever since his bipolarity diagnosis as a teenager, he'd made an effort to curb his drinking and smoking. Only when he was absolutely sure that the ache in his bones pointed to work-related stress, rather than any dark abscess from the deep recesses within his mind, did he allow himself to indulge in the vice.

And that night, indulge he did. Big yikes. 

Truth be told, it was the unfortunate result of maybe moaning way too much than necessary about his totally hot and totally maddening assistant. Eliott didn't get it. Was he entering a second teenage phase? He was way too young for that. But why did he feel all manner of fluttering things in his stomach (butterflies, dragonflies, mayflies and all) whenever Lucas came within two feet of him?

And so, with these probably-unprofessional thoughts running a marathon in his mind, the aforementioned night went something like:

He’d planned to drink only one or two as as post-stress relief. The plan went out the window when Idriss opened his mouth and the first thing he'd asked Eliott had been _"So, how's your cute PA? Had him spreading more than just spreadsheets yet?"_ Eliott sent a little prayer up for the protection of his poor liver that night and proceeded to go on and on in painful detail about Lucas's latest accomplishments. 

"Frankly, he sounds scary as hell." Idriss visibly shuddered, and Eliott tried not to gasp in offense, because Idriss was supposed to be a man of taste, the traitor.

Then he remembered he'd never shown Idriss any photo of Lucas. For Eliott's continued peace of mind, it was probably for the best.

"From what you're telling me, he's the one pointing out mistakes, criticizing without mercy, and sending everything back with more instructions heaped on. Sounds like something _you_ should be doing yourself, but since you're too much of a damn pushover, he's the one who has to bring the gavel of judgment down... only with your signature under." 

"He's a perfectionist, okay. And he always asks for my approval before sending whatever needs to be sent," Eliott defended, a tad too fiercely. Lucas was in charge of his corporate email and he's never once regretted it, not even during that one time when both Sander _and_ Robbe stormed into his office asking why #ZumbaFridays and #MeditationMondays every first week of the month were now 'mandatory bonding exercises.' He ignored Idriss's snickers. "I happen to find it only adds to his appeal. And c'mon now, is there anything better than a cute and competent assistant?"

"Slow down, Romeo," Idriss laughed. "Any more of that and I'm this close to seeing little cupids with heart arrows flying around your head."

“Anyway, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted," Eliott said, and Idriss took another swig of his beer, rolling his eyes, "I said: _Lucas, I noticed we leave work in the same direction._ _On the south side and all._ And he smiled, Idriss, smiled, okay? Shut up, it’s not creepy. He said: _I know you know where I live, Eliott. You have access to all the HR files._ And then he laughed!” Eliott had sighed around the beer bottle, lost in the memory.

“Wow, you are whipped as fuck,” Idriss commented with a wicked grin. “Lemme guess. You offered to carpool?”

“Yeah. I told him, _hey, we should just carpool. You know, to save the Earth_.” He punched a tiny fist in the air, nearly knocking his beer over. “Go Mother Earth! Sustainability! Let's go Green!”

Idriss threw his head back and laughed. Noticing Eliott’s growing distress, he spared him a curious look. “Wait... you're kidding, right? You didn’t actually say that?”

Eliott chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh. I kinda did?”

Idriss probably didn't hear Eliott’s reply over the sound of his palm slapping against his forehead. “God, Eliott! You’re Managing Director! How do you even function around him?”

Eliott sighed yet again. “It’s one of life’s many mysteries. Like… you know.” He tipsily mimed a series of punctuated dots in the air and a little cross in the center, eyes crossing a little as he did so.

“… Are you miming a rosary?”

He nodded vigorously. “Life’s full of it. The mysteries.”

Idriss shook his head. “Man, if I didn’t love your drunk ass so much, I’d have sold the headline to GQ or something. _Eliott Demaury, Number 5 in Forbes 30-under-30 list and Number 2 on Esquire’s Hottest Corporate Heirs List, reduced to squirming lovesick worm._ They’ll all have a field day.”

“Lovesick worm?” Eliott squawked, indignant even under the haziness of alcohol. “At least make it cute! Like raccoons… or even snakes!”

“Fucking hell,” Idriss muttered. Doling out the animal metaphors pretty much signalled Eliott about to throw in the towel.

See, this is all he remembered before his head hit the table, fatigue and the urge to sleep taking over him like a warm, fuzzy blanket. Idriss drove him home like the gracious friend he was, but he’s not sure Idriss has forgiven him for leaving little dribbles of clear vomit on the edges of his seatbelt.

Now, he stared at his phone, having paused 10.5 seconds of his busy life to read the little horoscope notification that’s popped up. It was stupid. Luckiness in love. Entering open doors. Lucas - wholly beautiful, too smart, kind of terrifying Lucas - popped into his mind’s eye, and he shook his head thoroughly at no one in particular. Who even believed this fortune cookie stuff?

He checked himself for suddenly being so worked up. Eliott had never known horoscopes to be so feeling-inducing.

“Eliott?”

Speak of a wild-haired angel and he shall appear.

(Try as he might, Lucas was no spawn of hell in Eliott’s eyes. Except maybe when he's sending scathingly worded reminders to payroll and accounts.

_Dear Team, on behalf of the office of the M. Director, we can’t afford to delay payroll for even a few hours. Please manage your time efficiently. Otherwise I advise you to refrain from taking any recourse via the office of the M. Director when HR sends you a memo re: the delay or Accounts comes knocking on your door asking why. Thanks, Lucas._

The entire finance team was on the email firing squad, with Eliott cc-ed.

Eliott peeked out to Lucas’s desk. He could see Lucas’s proverbial satanic horns jutting out the top of his head, eyebrows pinched as he read whatever excuse payroll came up with this time. Lucas bit his bottom lip, frowning adorably, before fingers clacked loudly on his keyboard.

Eliott found himself half-terrified but also half-hot. Phew. Maybe Eliott was in hell after all.)

Lucas came up behind him, face scrunching cutely when he spied Eliott’s coffee. “Eliott, what did I tell you about getting your own coffee? I could do that for you…”

Eliott barely resisted the urge to squeal like a lunatic at Lucas’s utter determination to, well, assist Eliott. “And I’ve told you, Lucas. It’s fine. I don’t want to trouble you with trivial things like getting me coffee. We’re not in a traditional office set-up.” He gave a small, encouraging smile over at Lucas, who looked a little put out. “Besides, you’re way too good to be doing that kinda stuff.”

“Way too good, huh?” Lucas said, instantly brightening. There was a bit of pink in his cheeks, or did Eliott imagine it? Maybe Lucas had to run to catch up with Eliott on the stairs; he didn’t see Lucas on his way to the office. “Should the Director be talking like that to little ol’ me? A mere underling?”

“Really. You’re the smartest person in the office.”

“You give me way too much credit. Boss,” Lucas tacked on with a lopsided grin. He didn't normally call Eliott that, just did it to tease him as an inside joke. If only Lucas knew how much it gets him hot under the collar. “I’m just a slave at your beck and call, you know. A well-paid one, but still. I'm at your mercy.”

“Nonsense. You’re more than that,” Eliott replied automatically. And there Lucas goes again, with his corporate slave jokes. Aside from the fact that thinking of Lucas as one of his company’s employees woke Eliott up to the reality that Lucas was someone he met at work, the word slave just brought to mind something else entirely - images of Lucas, oxford shirt unbuttoned and hair dishevelled, on his knees and nuzzling his nose at the front of Eliott's dress slacks; or his wrists tied to Eliott's swivel chair via two strategically placed neckties. It also didn't help when Lucas insisted on saying it with a low lilt in his voice, like it was something only Eliott should ever know.

They resumed climbing up the stairs. Lucas gingerly took Eliott’s file case and slipped it between his arm. “Don’t let anyone else hear you say that, Eliott. Otherwise, all our hard-earned work building you up as the Director to end all Directors is just gonna go to waste. Those corporate emails don’t write themselves, okay,” he joked.

Eliott, cursed with zero filter without some form of caffeine in the morning, said, “Well, they should hear it. You’re more. You’re everything.”

If Lucas heard him, he said nothing.

They reached the door to the office, ready to begin another day. He reached for the door, but Eliott beat him to it by a half-second, opening it for him. It’s early in the morning and no one saw them, but still. Eliott knew Lucas will have words.

And Lucas did, sighing in exasperation. Eliott’s done this before whenever they come through the front door together. Not all the time, but significantly enough that Lucas has had to scold him about it, saying it could imply favouritism. 

Today though, Lucas’s smile was all sorts of fond. “Eliott, this is another thing we’ve talked about… I already told you—“

“I could do things for you sometimes,” Eliott cut him off. “You should just let me. That’s an executive order. If you need that signed, I’ll have it for you in five. ”

“Oh, dishing out the executive orders now, are we? Should I be scared?” Lucas countered, smile growing wider. The hallway bulbs weren't flattering at all, a harsh, bright white that settled on the curves of Lucas’s cheeks. Eliott still thought he looked impossibly pretty. He reassessed his earlier thought on Lucas’s angelic qualities. Scratch that, start over; Lucas, in truth, must be unholy.

“After you.” Eliott swept an arm towards the entrance.

Lucas tutted. “So chivalrous. I’ll have to draft your emails extra spicy today since I bet the IT guys are watching from the CCTVs.” He slanted his head a little towards the cameras on the upper left side of the wall. Coyly waved his fingers, blinked wide eyes, fluttered doe lashes. “Hey guys, don’t ruin Mr. Demaury’s image, okay? I’ve worked so hard on beefing him up the past few weeks.”

“… I didn’t think of the IT guys,” Eliott mumbled as they both walked inside. 

Lucas patted him on the arm, consoling. “There, there, boss. They’re all still scared of you,” he said, and the touch seared even through Eliott’s dress shirt.

He couldn't be less concerned of his image if he tried. If he's being honest, it's more along the lines of ‘what if one of the IT guys sees Lucas’s little shy, wide-eyed act and begins developing a crush?'. It’s entirely possible. After all, it happened to him. Who’s to say others wouldn’t be so vulnerable?

.

The first text came just a few minutes after 21:30h.

Eliott emerged out of a long meeting with Nico, another of his Account Directors who handled the more sensitive NGO accounts, and Marti, Nico’s deputy, for a series of client presentations over the succeeding weeks. These were high-yield projects for the Agency, and they spent a good chunk of time identifying underperforming sectors in the client’s marketing materials, remaking them, discarding whatever didn’t increase thought leadership or boost reputation, and reorienting the collaterals toward whatever did. Typical stakeholder mapping and audit work.

So Eliott was pretty fucking tired. He glanced around Lucas’s area, seeing his messenger bag but not the man himself. He figured Lucas must be in the break room drinking another one of his Nespressos with ungodly amounts of stevia, the ones which made Eliott gag. Well, they’ve both been awake for more than twelve hours now, so it was natural for Lucas to seek out one of his sickeningly sweet energy drinks. It’s one of the things about Lucas which baffled but endeared Eliott even more; he’d have no qualms about spitting out prickly, acidic barbs, but his choice of drink almost always bordered on dessert.

He’d given Lucas permission to go home a little around two hours ago, but Lucas had insisted on staying.

“What sort of EA would I be if I went home while my boss was still working?” Lucas said, shaking his head and waving Eliott off. “It’s okay. I still have some reports to file, anyway. Might as well get them done now.”

“You’re way more hardworking than I am, seriously,” Eliott praised. From chatting with Lucas over lunch and during coffee breaks, he’d found out Lucas had availed of financial aid throughout University, taking on a medley of part-time jobs to put himself through school. It was a far cry from Eliott’s privileged upbringing and he admired Lucas all the more for it. “You could probably run this company in your sleep if you wanted to.”

“Pssh, please,” Lucas dismissed, though Eliott saw his ears turning red. He bit back a smile; Lucas was too self-effacing in front of him. Everyone in the office knew Lucas was good at what he did, and because of that, he made Eliott’s output even better than if he were to work by himself. “Who else could even dream up your ideas? I just re-word your emails and fix the financial reports. But the things you come up with? Your creativity? The way you instinctively know which marketing strategy is best for which client? Only you could do that. Honestly, Eliott. You’re pretty amazing yourself.”

And then _Eliott_ was the one with furious heat burning up his neck and onto his face. He coughed, tearing his gaze away. “I think I hear Nico calling,” he excused himself hastily, though Nico would never _dare_. Who in their right mind would call out the Managing Director for being late to an internal meeting?

He jerked back to the present when his phone buzzed with a notification. It was a text - or rather, a series of texts from Lucas - all coming in rapid succession.

Eliott squinted at the screen, then nearly dropped it as surprise rippled through him. 

He had to sit down for this. He did, then read it again, doing a double-take. Then one more for good measure, because holy shit, was this—

**Lucas Lallemant (EA):**

_hey, e! thanks for last night_

_still seeing stars from the fucking you gave me_

_jk cos no one actually sees stars unless it's a medical emergency lol_

_but yeah. you. me. you in me. hell yeah_

_up for a repeat tmrw?_

Sirens rang in Eliott's ears, chanting the phrase _still seeing stars_ _from the fucking you gave me_ like a broken record. Did Lucas just— 

The thought crossed his mind unbidden: who was Lucas fucking and why wasn't it Eliott. Maybe Mme. Ziva wasn't a hack, if he could feel the tendrils of the little green monster slowly creeping around his heart. 

Without thinking, Eliott replied: _you’re not working?_

Barely twenty seconds later, one message popped up. When Eliott checked, it was still from Lucas’s number: _already done for the day. just waiting for my hot af boss to leave_

Eliott almost choked on air. With great composure, he texted back: _hot af boss?_

There was nothing for a few minutes. Just as Eliott was about to put his phone down, the message app pinged again. And again. And again. Eliott swiped his thumb over the screen, and his heart nearly stopped. 

_yuuupppp uGGHHH he’s still so fcking hot_

_if only u saw him u'd know_

_literally his entire face..... a crime against nations_

_and that mf body_

_could spark entire wars_

_helen of troy WHO tbh_

_but whatevr we’re not talking abt him_

_don’t u want a demo of my world-class technique……_

_the one i told u bout_

_hint: zero g reflex :’))))_

_can’t wait to suck that dick_

_even went commando today_

_cos when i get home imma get naked in 2 secs_

_and touch myself_

_i mean_

_u know i think of my hot boss when i cum these days but_

_i could think of u :’)_

At the last few messages, the reaction from Eliott was almost instantaneous. He felt his blood flow south as he snapped straight up his seat. It was so violent a motion that he managed to bang his knees _hard_ on the table. “Fuck!” he swore loudly, then clapped a hand over his mouth. A valiant effort, but it was too late. He heard footsteps coming down to his office.

Lucas opened the door, peering his head in the crack. He wore his reading glasses, eyes a little bleary and hair sticking up in all directions. He looked so goddamned sweet it drove Eliott crazy. “Eliott? Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Eliott must seem wild to Lucas, eyes wide, fists clenched by his side, entire body nearly vibrating with tension. His eyes flickered downward to Lucas’s crotch, the words ‘commando’ ringing in his stupid, stupid brain. _Shit, shit, shit._

He was going to say it was nothing. Instead, voice coarse as sandpaper, the words out his mouth were: “Your phone. Lucas. Check… your phone.”

Lucas blinked owlishly, eyebrows scrunching together. “What?”

Eliott could only point helplessly to Lucas’s phone, and then to his own phone on his desk. “I think you’re texting the wrong person.”

Lucas fell silent. Everything screeched to a halt. Multiple emotions flitted through Lucas's face: blankness, confusion, disbelief. It finally settled on horror as realization dawned on him, blood draining from his cheeks. They stared at each other, a long moment suspended in unspeakable shock. 

And heat?

“I—“ Lucas yanked his phone out his front pocket, rapidly scanning the screen. “But, the recipient headline— it’s. Oh. No. _Oh, my god_.”

“Lucas—“

“Eliott, I’m so sorry. I must’ve been so tired, I haven’t been getting so much sleep lately. I know that’s no excuse but… I’m really sorry. I’ll… I’ll accept any disciplinary action necessary for the insubordination. Even termination,” Lucas rushed out in one long breath, speaking to the floor.

For the first time since they'd worked together, he couldn’t look Eliott in the eye. All the blood seemed to have returned to his face, settling again on his cheeks, the tips of his ears, and his neck speckled with tiny moles. Eliott wanted to kiss all of them, but he swept the thought away because Lucas was looking so adorably flustered and embarrassed. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull him into his arms, tell him it was okay, and maybe run his fingers through Lucas's hair.

But not today, not when Lucas looked like he was about to go down on his knees for all the wrong reasons.

“Lucas, it's okay. No disciplinary measure necessary, c’mon. And of course I won't fire you. It was an accident. Happens to everyone,” he assured, though he was pretty sure this was one for the books.

He stopped himself from crossing the room and embracing Lucas. It’s still off-limits; Lucas was his assistant. He’s still working on getting them to another level, although admittedly, this _did_ considerably speed things up. Now he knew for sure Lucas found him attractive. He was inwardly pleased that he wasn’t presuming meaning in Lucas’s smiles and subtly flirty one-liners.

“You know I won’t do that to you. We’re both tired, go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Lucas had all but nearly leapt across the room, stuttering his profuse thanks. “O-okay. Um, goodnight, Eliott. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Thank you again—” 

Eliott, half-curious and half-stewing in the beginnings of jealousy, blurted out, "Wait, Lucas. Before you leave... who _were_ you texting?"

Lucas's eyes, normally a bright and clear blue, were rimmed just a tiny bit pink when he raised his head to meet Eliott's stare.

Eliott mentally slapped himself. He had no business seeking the answer to that one out, and he should've known better. He shook his head as he waved a dismissive hand. "Sorry, it's none of my business. I was just—"

He didn't expect Lucas to answer, albeit shakily. His voice grew steadier with each word as he regained himself. "He's - he's just one of my..."

Eliott raised both eyebrows. "One of... your boyfriends?" Then hastened to add, "You don't have to answer, I didn't meant to assume." 

This was toeing the line, but Lucas had been open with him so far about being gay and having been in relationships, albeit all short-lived. Eliott was likewise an open book, easily telling Lucas about his life, including his pansexuality, his diagnosis, and his erstwhile girlfriend of nearly half a decade. Somehow, he felt he could be open with Lucas, and he was rewarded when Lucas would confide about his own life in turns. Eliott wondered sometimes what life would've been like if they met when they were a little younger. He's sure he would've taken taken the chance at the first instance and snapped Lucas up before anyone else could lay their hands on him. Lucas must've been a real heartbreaker even then, but he was even more so now, his confidence, charm, and beauty growing with age, knowledge, and experience. Eliott wouldn't have it any other way. 

Lucas shook his head slowly. He tucked his lower lip between his teeth, a move that had Eliott crossing his legs in response. "No, not a boyfriend. Just... a hook-up. Nothing more. He has the same first name as you, sort of. Elliot with a double L. It's entirely my fault for naming you just E in my contacts. He's also an E just with a 2 somewhere and-" Lucas closed his eyes, heaving a deep breath. "Sorry, I know it's stupid of me to try and explain. I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

Eliott, for lack of anything to say, just nodded. "You don't need to. It was out of line of me to ask in the first place. I apologize. It's— fine. We're fine. You should get some rest. Goodnight, Lucas." 

Lucas shuffled back, hunched in on himself. He looked so small. Too small. Eliott frowned; it didn't suit Lucas at all. Lucas was more radiant than anyone else in the office, could hold his head high knowing he did great work. Eliott couldn't stand to see Lucas like this. 

"Bye, Eliott," he'd said softly. Eliott only watched as Lucas walked briskly to his desk to pick up his bag. He then beat a hasty retreat for the exit, and Eliott was left all alone.

Eliott leaned back in a daze. What the fuck just happened? 

When Eliott went home that night, he thought he had his hard-on under control. However, the moment he sat on his bed and stared at his phone, imagining Lucas panting dirty and hot and desperate next to him - _I think of you when I wanna come,_ he'd whisper brokenly - any hope for unrated dreams vanished into thin air. His cock twitched to attention in record time. Jerking his sweatpants down to his thighs, he touched himself in quick strokes, coming to the thought of Lucas moaning sweetly in his ear.

He was well and truly fucked, wasn’t he.


End file.
